The us we used to be
by StrawberrySab
Summary: Long time due Lake Forest's oneshot. A last minute's holiday turns into the occasion to relive old memories and discuss new issues.


**A/N 1 : I promised this story ages ago but as I started writing I realized that it lacked in a je-ne-sais-quoi. I'm totally blaming a certain girl for unintentionally giving me the right idea to finish it. Thanks to both Mary and Josie for being my usual fantastic sounding boards 3**

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**A/N 2 : I don't own neither the characters nor the show. And clearly, I don't even own the muse. Whomever she belongs, please take her back. I'm dropping her at the Lost and Found Office :P**

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**A/N 3 : You should know by now that now and then I write this ship. Please refrain from complaining ;)**

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The moment I step into the room I'm overwhelmed. Memories from the first time we've been here together starts flooding, projecting images of a very younger version of me. It's been more than twenty years ago. My first holiday with Peter. Back then, I was still an idealistic law student with a lot of dreams and Peter was already moving his first steps as an underpaid prosecutor while fantasizing about politics. We were both so penniless that all we could afford was this inn in Lake Forest, while dreaming of Hawaii. How ironic is it that so many years later I am offered Hawaii but instead I'm drawn to this quiet, more moderate corner of paradise? Because that's what it is in my eyes, for I don't need hours of flight to escape the stress of my new firm's ups and downs. I need good company and a turned-off phone. I need the relaxing sounds of the woods, the freshwater breeze of this familiar lake and the singing sands under my feet.

I'm sure that the room is still the same, though it looks somewhat different. But maybe it's my romantic side that wants to believe it and these rooms all look the same. It smells like paint and fresh-cut flowers; it's probably been renewed recently. I can't remember the color of the walls, my mind projects a turquoise memory in contrast with the warm apricot that surrounds me. But I sure remember the dark, solid furniture and the distant view of Lake Michigan from the French window, framed by thick green woods. I inhale deeply the feeling of those days. I smile as I lay my purse and coat on the sofa and walk further in to get a better view of the room.

"It's like a time travel in our past."

Peter's soft tone gives voice to my thoughts and I turn around to face him, acknowledging the pleasant feeling with a light nod. "Much better than Hawaii, isn't it?" I tease him. In the end, I don't even care if all our plans for the vows renewal failed, crushed and pulverized under Peter's gubernatorial excessive obligations and my desperate race to keep my firm alive. If there is something I realized in the last few weeks is that I don't need to say _I do_ again, I don't need to remarry Peter again, certainly not when it's the press to demand it the most. I spent half of my life with him because I love him, because we've been through a few downs and a lot more of ups. Because when he gets defensive of me it flatters me, for I know that it's his own special way to show his love for me. Even if I know that sometimes the moral of his acts can be questionable. Sometimes he can be wrong, but most of the times it's with the best intentions. And this is one of the reasons why we are here, far from everyone. I'm taking the occasion of this impromptu carved-out holiday to talk to him.

The weird and unexpected chat with Marilyn in my bathroom had more impact on me than I wanted to. At first I had silenced her, though probably more to silence my conscience. And maybe a tad annoyed by her choice of _Peter_ instead of _Mr. Florrick_. I swore up and down that Peter had no way of knowing about Chumhum, even if the coincidence was shouting the contrary. But who would have been so stupid to protest against such a manna from heaven? In the heat of the moment I celebrated the taste of victory, pocketed my nice dose of profit and didn't complain. I'm neither blind, nor ungrateful. Peter saved my ass from failing before even starting. Without Chumhum there would probably be no Florrick, Agos & Associates. Just a bunch of young lawyers who couldn't temporize until their bonuses were guaranteed and safe. But Marilyn's words kept echoing in my mind, bouncing back and forth for days, making me consider every aspect and possible consequence of Peter's actions and of my own. The final shot came from Eli. When he phoned me, a few days ago, for the same reason, I became aware of the degree of danger tied to this unethical approach. All of a sudden, everything became clear.

Still, I'm not in a hurry to make things clear with Peter. We have a whole weekend to enjoy, and a talk about work is not within my _relax and have fun_ idea.

I shake away every thought and let myself fall on the bed's mattress, closing my eyes to better relish the peaceful moment. I'm twenty years younger and madly in love.

§ oOoOo §

"_Our first holiday," Peter emphasized the importance of this special occasion with slow, articulated words, as soon as we entered the room._

"_Yep," I nodded with a content smile, as I quietly took in my surroundings. The room was small, but the minimalistic furniture and the turquoise walls that evoked the color of the clear sky outside made it look bright and wider. _

"_Alone," he pointed out as he walked close to me._

_Alone. What an appealing sound that word had in my ears. "Completely alone," I remarked, as my smile went from content to knowing._

"_No roommates walking in on us," Peter observed with that mixed shade of annoyance and light jealousy I knew all too well. _

_I rolled my eyes and hushed him with a light kiss. "Or brothers."_

"_Especially the brothers," he agreed, his voice cracked in a light, yet deep laughter, as he returned the kiss with a deeper one. _

_Owen was in his worst possible age; that terrible teenage phase when all his energies flew together with the mere intent to play troublemaker on his older sister. He didn't miss an opportunity to taunt me. My only chance was to be patient and wait until the stupidity age was over. "And mothers," I teased Peter. _

_I stared at him, eager to read on his face his reaction to something I was pretty sure would remain printed in my memory forever. More for Peter's embarrassment than for me, actually. Jackie's firm belief that I was too young for him brought out my innermost rebellious side. As much as my love for Peter dictated me to show her some respect, sometimes it was too much to bear and I ended up picking at her. All the mock trials had sharpened my future lawyer's skills and refined my talkativeness, playing in my favor when my light teasing turned into skirmish. It was like taking candies from a baby._

_Peter looked down and swallowed, almost imperceptibly. "That was… embarrassing…"_

_Caught in the 'act.' _

_Embarrassing was an understatement._

"_A lot." I nodded and smiled mischievously. "Now that we've compiled the list of every possible interference individuals, can we make good use of the fact that for once there are none?"_

_One week. One week of beach, lake, sun and sex. Even if we were just within a stone's throw from Chicago, this smelled like absolute freedom. _

_Mom thought that my story with Peter was my umpteenth attempt at a rebellion towards some kind of authority I apparently couldn't recognize. She thought that I dated an older guy for the sake of feeling likeable and somehow 'popular'. She never asked me once why I chose him of all the guys. And I didn't feel the need to give any unrequested explanation. I didn't need her to know that I was in love with his strength, confidence, ambition and solidity. With his romantic hue that gave quaintness to his every gesture. He mixed perfectly an eccentric sweetness with a lighthearted maturity. And he had that way of staring straight at me that made me go weak on my knees and feel unique at the same time. Even if his approach had been unconventional, to say the least. Why he chose to bring me to a basketball match on our first date, I still had no idea. How it even worked, it was completely beyond my understanding. But it obviously did. Though, for the life of me, I never understood what an alley oop or a baseline out-of-bounds play were and I was pretty sure I'd never need to use those terms in a courtroom._

_Now, as I stood in front of him, his fiery-hot eyes speaking for him, I couldn't care less of what people believed my reasons were for loving him. Neither had I any intention of wasting even a single more second on that thought. It was our first holiday. The idea alone was exciting. The way he eyed me up and down was exciting. The way his hands were making their way, from my hips, wrapped up in those jeans that I knew always turned him on, up my back and under my white t-shirt was mind-blowing. _

_Beach, lake and sun could totally wait. _

_With all the wild and young passion I was given, I pushed him towards the bed with no procrastination. He fell heavily on the mattress, bringing me down with him. The bounce of the mattress caused our lips to meet lightly, making us both burst into laughter at the unexpected, yet welcome contact. _

_Was this the way being happy and in love felt like? Because I'd gladly signed up for a whole life like this. _

"_What are you thinking?" Peter asked me, probably hearing my gears spinning from the outside._

_I smiled but didn't answer. Three words died on my lips. I was way too young and withdrawn by nature to expose my feelings with words, even if I knew that with Peter it was different. _

§ oOoOo §

The change of pressure on the mattress brings me back to present day, pulling me out of my pleasant day-dreaming.

"What are you thinking?"

I open my eyes and smile, then turn to face Peter who's now lying next to me, his hands crossed behind his head. A light sigh escapes me. "That so many things have changed." And I know that he knows what I mean.

"It's life…"

"Yep, it's life…"

Things change. People change. Experiences change people. Life changes people. Sometimes you adjust to life. Some others you manage to adjust life to yourself. I can safely say I'm a mix of the two. I locked my dreams in a closet for way longer than I want to remember. But the time I pulled them out, even if for mere necessity, it was worth every day spent playing housewife. I still can't believe I went from rags to riches in the space of four years. I can't believe I have my own firm. I can't believe that my marriage is finally in a decent place again. Not perfect. For I'm pretty sure that perfection won't ever be back again. Maybe perfection never existed in the first place. Do _perfect_ marriages even exist? If life taught me something is that every marriage have flaws. The secret lies in not letting those flaws get the upper hand. It's been easy until I lived in the unawareness of their existence. The hardest part comes when you have to face them, deal with them, heal from them. And the healing part proved to be the longest and hardest, but the most worth at the same time. I don't want to lose this again.

I roll on one side to better face Peter and I can see the light confusion etched on his face.

"It scares me when I can't read you… more than it scares me when I actually do," he jokes.

"Just got lost in memories." I smile lightly, my hand moves to cover his cheek in a light caress. "Did I mention lately that I love you?" I'm sure I don't say it enough.

Peter looks away, a brow raised in what looks like fake pensiveness. "I think you did, but a reminder is always welcome. Now are you going to tell me what's crossing your mind or you wanna keep me hanging for the whole weekend?" he asks, as his gaze shifts back on me, resting on my eyes.

His clouded features tell me that maybe he reads me better than he thinks. It shouldn't surprise me actually, but I thought I could postpone this conversation. I was clearly wrong.

"I talked to Marilyn," I start, putting aside any hesitation. "Actually, she talked to me," I quickly correct myself.

"What? When?" he mutters. His brows knit in blatant confusion. He's clearly oblivious to this all and has probably no idea either of the reason behind that visit.

"She paid a visit to me a few weeks ago," I explain. Not that the _when_ changes anything. I inhale deeply, cursing myself for not having prepared some kind of speech. "I don't want you to meddle in my professional life anymore," I rattle out, though with a soft tone, in the hope that the message doesn't reach him in the wrong way.

"With? What? What are we talking about?" he asks.

I'm sure I read a hint of offense in his voice, but a lot more of confusion. "Your press conference," I make myself clear.

"Oh."

Yes. _Oh_.

I nod. "I don't want you to do that again," I whisper, though with a resolution that should leave no room for doubt that I really mean it.

"Helping you?"

"Exposing yourself like that."

He should know better that the fall can be easy. If Marilyn put the pieces together and figured out the real target behind his conference, what could stop the press from doing the same? This time was the technological companies, next time what? I don't wanna know. Actually I don't want a _next time_.

"I didn't…" he tries to deny. But we both know the truth.

"You did…" I hush him with a gentle pressure of my fingers on his mouth.

For a moment silence fills the room. I can hear the muffled voices of someone walking by our door, maybe some other guests. It distracts me for a second, but not long enough to lose the thread of the conversation.

"I want to succeed because I have what it takes to succeed. I want to succeed because I am good at my job, because me and Cary are good at our job. If this means that I have to fail for this, then I'll fail. But I want to do it on my own."

"I don't want you to fail," he murmurs.

He stares at me, looking concerned, and I know that he's not yet totally aware of why I rather risk my career than take his help.

"Maybe I don't, maybe I do… But I need to find my own footing, I need to know that if my firm survives is because I was good enough to keep my clients, with my own strength."

He looks at me, musing over something, probably pondering my request.

I saw him work his way up, step by step. I saw him fail and fall. I saw him pay for his failure. I saw him piece himself and his career back together and start again, with a refund enthusiasm and an enhanced passion. A passion that now seeps through his eyes as he stares at me in a way that makes me feel worshipped.

"Did I mention lately that I'm proud of you?" he asks with a smile and a gaze that speaks all his love.

Still, I roll my eyes, smiling amused at his theft of my own words. And I play along. "I think you did, but a reminder is always welcome." I stick my nose and wince my amusement, then move closer to cuddle against him, enjoying the quietness. My gaze falls on the painting that hangs on the wall in front of us. A Renoir's reproduction. I would recognize it among thousands, for it's always been one of my favorites. And I remember for sure that I thought the same the first time around. I smile. Maybe they have the same reproduction in every room. Or maybe it's our old room indeed. "Now can we finally stop talking about my career and enjoy this holiday?"

"Far from me to disappoint you," Peter says, not moving. Then he's suddenly on me, making me scream both for the unexpected gesture and in excitement. In this moment, it feels so much like the us we used to be.


End file.
